


Crushed charcoal

by SinNotAlone



Series: Niche Kink November [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Coercion, Dom/sub, Humiliation, Incompetence Kink, M/M, emotional masochism, hair cutting, niche kink november
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:09:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinNotAlone/pseuds/SinNotAlone
Summary: Fill for day 18 of Niche Kink November: Hair, Trichophilia/Removal
Kylo Ren fails to live up to Hux’s standards, yet again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of follow-up to [Regulate](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7379095), but you don’t really need to have read that fic to understand this.
> 
> View the whole kink list [here](https://sinnotalone.tumblr.com/post/151322332363/some-of-us-here-in-kylux-hard-kinks-land-were-a).

On the cusp of another evening of leisure, Kylo waits at the point of inspection. He drums his fingers against the stiff twill of his uniform, silently marking the passing seconds. He’s had two weeks to let the previous lesson sink in, re-read the list until he no longer needs a single hint to recite it in its entirety. Kylo hopes he’s internalized a fraction of Hux’s fastidiousness, though hope has never provided much assurance for him before.

Hux approaches with a nod and a giddy brightness in his clear eyes. He keeps the rest of his face impassive, lips slightly pursed in detached consideration, forehead smooth from worry, but he can’t control the widening of his pupils, the gaze that is too focused, too attentive. The look would read as innocent anticipation on the face of a child, but on Hux it’s perilously sinister.

Hux stops short. He doesn’t touch Kylo. No greeting or acknowledgement passes his lips. Instead he waits. Kylo moves his arm to form a salute. He keeps it there as Hux closes in and starts his appraisal. The weight of his judgement creeps across Kylo’s skin. He mentally recites the instructions for the hundredth time, reassuring himself that he has made no careless omissions in his preparations.

Hux inspects Kylo from every angle, circling like a predator waiting for the ideal moment to strike. Kylo’s raised fist grows heavy, his forearm aches, threatens to droop, but he doesn’t let it. He clenches his teeth instead. The burn in his shoulder feeds his resolve.

“Better, better, you discovered how to use an iron, at the very least, and the new jacket fits infinitely better than that sad standard issue,” Hux says. It’s a compliment directed at himself as much as Kylo. He finagled a custom jacket from their supplier, parceling a not-insubstantial number of credits from his personal uniform stipend to the project. _Next time I’ll see you outfitted properly,_ Hux had said when he’d dolefully undressed Kylo the last time.  

“But still, what did I tell you about this?” Hux buries his fingers in the chestnut locks that rest bundled against Kylo’s nape. Kylo had combed and pinned his hair twice over to achieve the modicum of tidiness he now presents. Perhaps Hux is offended that unlike his own hair, Kylo’s still has the potential to move.

“To secure it,” Kylo recites, “so as to not impede my vision during moderate movement.”

“And is that an accurate assessment of your current state?” Hux sneers.

“Yes?” Kylo curses his response. His questioning tone was a foolish mistake, baring his vulnerable underbelly to Hux’s claws. Whenever Kylo wavers, Hux is quick to exploit his self-doubt.

Hux pulls at one of the short tendrils that escaped during his rough treatment. “I wouldn’t characterize this as secure, not when it falls to pieces after such a little trial. And it certainly isn’t tidy, is it?”

“No...” Kylo admits defeat.

“You just couldn’t manage it could you? It would have taken a degree of conscientiousness you’ll never possess.”

Kylo feels the sting of tears as they start to well. It’s salt rubbed into an open wound. The recycled air aboard the ship dries his eyes, leading to perpetual irritation. The humiliation of crying in front of Hux is bad enough; the added sting is an insult he doesn’t need. Kylo blinks rapidly and hopes Hux doesn’t notice the sheen. The tears become something caustic, burning their way across his field of vision, encouraging more to gather. He won’t let them to overflow. He widens his eyes, encouraging them to dry.

Hux doesn’t comment on Kylo’s lachrymosity. He has evidently not said his piece, and he plows ahead, scorn tumbling from his lips. “You brought this on yourself. With your sloppy appearance, your disrespect for my instructions. I understand, you’ve never had someone who held you to a standard higher than your own, which is frankly mediocre at best. But... but I’ll help you fix this. I’ll put you right. Though the solution is one you’re unlikely to enjoy.” Hux’s reprimand starts full of force, but he sputters in his stream of conjunctions at the end.

Kylo senses hesitance not just in Hux’s speech. His final statements are directed at the gleaming buckle that rests atop Kylo’s navel. It is unlike Hux to miss an opportunity to revel in Kylo’s discomfort.

The end of Hux’s offer hints at an out. Kylo always has the ultimate power, the ability to walk away, but Hux rarely breaks the facade by alluding to it. Kylo suspected Hux would find fault in some aspect of his appearance, knew there would be further trials for him to undergo. Neither of them would be satisfied if Hux were easy to please. Hux is right, when he tells Kylo that he needs a scrupulous guardian to guide him, though the lessons are sometimes painful to learn.

Kylo stays silent, not just because he fears his voice will sound a tearful bleat. He chooses to wait until Hux shows his hand, rather than fold at the outset of the game.

Hux’s eyes raise to search Kylo’s. Kylo tries to hold his line of sight, unflinching, unblinking, though tears still linger in the corners of his eyes. A flicker of warmth flits across Hux’s face reflected in the turn of his full lips. It vanishes a second later and his icy mask slips back into place.

“To the ‘fresher,” Hux commands, inclining his head in the general direction.

Kylo’s step is quick, though Hux is nipping at his heels. Two shaky breaths and he finds himself scanning the sterile confines of the cold, stark room. At first glance, there is nothing out of ordinary in the refresher. Then he sees them, sharp points and shiny blades reflecting the bluish overhead lights, half hidden behind the sink basin.

This was his plan all along, Kylo now knows. No amount of preparation could have prevented this fate. Hux must have decided it necessary long before he even saw Kylo’s attempt. Why he needed to complete the farce of a failed inspection rather than demand it outright, Kylo wonders. Perhaps he had to believe that Kylo was responsible. So when the guilt creeps forth, thick enough to choke, Hux can in some small way shift the burden of blame onto Kylo.

It is Hux who takes the stride forward and picks up the scissors. He loops forefinger and thumb through the handles and draws the blades opens. His arm twists, rotating the glinting blades as if he is preparing to hone a deadly weapon. They must pass muster because he brings them closed with a decided finality. The grating of the blades pierces the silence. Hux grasps the points with his left hand and extends the tool toward Kylo, handles first. Even in a circumstance where Kylo’s discomfort is the sole objective, Hux is conscientious.

Kylo keeps his fists clenched by his sides, all the better to stop the tremor that threatens to take over. It starts as a little ripple in his belly and radiates outward, aiming to quiver down his limbs. He fears his knees will liquefy, slip out from under him and leave him sprawling on the unforgiving floor. He wasn’t expecting that he would have to do the job himself. Not after the way Hux took the matter of his uniform into his own hands.

The tears well once more; this time overflowing the shallow gully of his eyelids to rain down his cheeks. How can he do it with shaking hands? With vision blurred by tears? He’ll make a mess of himself, though perhaps that is what Hux is seeking.

“Kylo, take the scissors.” Hux’s voice is steady, encouraging not malicious. A vague surprise at Hux’s tone registers in Kylo’s consciousness, in the part that still is observant. He tries to suck in a breath, but it brings with it a wad of mucus. It clogs his throat. He sputters, swallows it down, and grasps the cool metal. The scissors nearly fall from his hand when Hux releases his hold.

“I think you know what to do,” Hux goads.

Kylo’s scalp prickles from the crown to the nape, and the shiver continues, skittering down his spine. He fingers a lock of hair from his temple, lifting it up as he checks his reflection in the mirror. He blinks back the tears, stares into his own red-rimmed eyes. The man in the mirror slides the blades up the lock of hair, until they are nearly brushing his ear. Then he starts to bring them together.

Hux interrupts, “No, Kylo. We’re not going to play this game. You’ve seen a regulation cut, and it doesn’t even touch the ears.”

Kylo brings the blades higher, until they’re practically touching his scalp. He closes them, hears the pitiful sound as they slice through the hair. He expects it to hurt for some reason, even though he knows there are no nerves to sever. It is painful, just not physically, when he feels the severed lock go slack in his hand. He doesn’t see it though; his eyes have moved on. Rather than his own reflection, he observes Hux’s face.

Hux’s lips are red, wet, obscene. He’s trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. They worry and tug at the skin, then his pink tongue flicks out to sooth the bite. His looks ready to consume Kylo.

“That’s a start,” Hux says, nodding in agreement with his own comment. His eyes bob with the movement, intent on the blades in Kylo’s hand.

The lock of hair slips from Kylo’s fingers. Both sets of eyes watch as it flutters to the floor. It lies, dead, like a smudge of charcoal against the white tile.

With a cough to clear his throat, Hux continues, “Keep going Kylo. You’ve still got a long way to go.”

Kylo doesn’t have the faintest idea how to execute a proper haircut. Hux must know this, must be relishing his ineptitude. He grasps the next lock. It’s too much for the scissors to handle, and he has to saw a bit, listening to the grating of the scissors before the final hack frees the fistful of hair. The second cut leaves his right ear bare.

Hux steps forward. He reaches toward Kylo, but his hand hangs in the air for a moment before he closes the distance. His calloused fingertip runs along the shell of Kylo’s protruding ear. He flicks away the severed strands that still cling. Kylo wants to squirm away, hide behind his rapidly dwindling veil of hair.

The sorry look in Hux’s eyes is at odds with the flush across his cheeks. He presents a countenance of amorous pity. His voice is tender as he says, “You look like hell. I’ll do the rest.”

Hux’s cool fingers wrap around Kylo’s sweaty, shaking hand. Hux pries each finger back and steals the scissors into his own grasp. His other hand applies pressure to Kylo’s shoulder. “You’ll need to kneel for this.”

A flood of relief rushes from Kylo’s chest and out into the stagnant ‘fresher air. He drops to his knees so fast he has to catch himself, palms slapping on the tile floor. The tile eats into his kneecaps. He shifts his weight forward, adding to the bite.

Kylo looks up through the remnants of his ruined hair. Hux’s face has transformed. He is beneficent, with placid eyes and the barest hint of a smile. He is the worthy doing his good work. He will fix Kylo, make it right.

Hux scrounges a comb from his pocket before he circles Kylo. Kylo feels gentle pressure on the back of his neck, and he bows he head, offering himself up. Hux sets to work. All Kylo can do is sit still and allow his head to be moved this way and that, watching as his hair rains down around him. His cock grow heavy in response to Hux’s manipulations.

Hux crouches down behind Kylo. His breath is hot and humid on the back on Kylo’s neck. It’s exposed in a way that Kylo hasn’t known for years.

Hux brushes a kiss against the now bare skin behind Kylo’s ear, just a flicker of tongue against his flaming skin. Then he skates his palm down Kylo’s arm to intertwine their fingers. Kylo feels a tug, and Hux raises Kylo’s hand along with his own. He presses Kylo’s palm against the back of his neck. The disjoint between what he expects to feel and the reality of what remains makes his face flame.

The praise Hux lays on has Kylo pulsing in his trousers. “You’re perfect like this Kylo. My perfect cadet.”

Kylo can feel a hardness that matches his own pressing against his back. Hux keeps control. He doesn’t rut against Kylo, no, he just walks their fingers through the half-inch pelt that is all that is left on Kylo’s nape. Then he pitches forward until his lips hover just shy of Kylo’s ear.

Hux whispers, “I expect you to clean up your mess. There’s a dust pan under the sink. When you’re finished, you can thank me.” His thumb traces Kylo’s lips, leaving no question as to how the gratitude will be expressed.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://sinnotalone.tumblr.com)


End file.
